Epistle: To Baby J On the Occasion of His Second Birthday

Dear Baby J,

Where to begin? You joined us shortly after we moved away from our friends and familiar places. You took your time showing up, arriving too late for a 2005 tax deduction and only after a dose of drugs and a totally unexpected breaking of the water. But once those were taken care of, you hurried the heck out to meet the world.

I started this blog when you were three weeks old, the day we first heard about Sotos. The day our world came crashing down. You were an unfortunate casualty of that storm – which seems to be a recurring theme in your life, now that I think about it.

When I finally convinced your Daddy that we needed another baby, things happened fast, as they always do for us. And so it was that I found myself taking a pregnancy test while your Daddy sat shiva for his brother Shay, who passed away at age 30 after a difficult life of sickness. I waited until the shiva was over to tell Daddy, and I let him tell your Safta right away, even though I was only about five minutes pregnant, even though sanity and decorum would have dictated differently, because she needed to know.

I needed to have you, J, because I needed a birth experience that would take away the hurt I still felt when I looked at D’s baby pictures. I needed a baby to hold and enjoy, because I spent so much of D’s babyhood worrying. It was a purely selfish decision, and Thank God for it. Thank God for you. You have been so healing for me.

But you are a person in your own right, outside of D’s shadow, outside of your middle name, Shay, for Daddy’s brother, outside of everyone else and all the events that led up to your birth, you are your own boy. And you are amazing.

You walked early, although we were often too distracted to notice. You talked early, and you continue to talk and sing with such glee and delight that it takes us out of ourselves and forces us to focus on you and your joy.

You amaze me. When I come to pick you up at noon, and you see me, and you try to run to me and Morah E. says, “No, J, walk to Mommy,” and you hold your lunchbox and your papers and you walk, the desire to run obvious in every step, my heart sings. When you race into my arms and shout, “Mommy!” and I pick you up and give you kisses, all is right in the world.

When I ignore you in favor of solitaire on my iPod, you tell me, “I want kisses,” and how can I refuse? When you sing Old MacDonald had a farm, and you snort for the piggies, it’s so funny that I can’t even try to recreate that experience in words.

Your latest expression is “I don’t think so.” You use it in context all the time: I ask if you if you want to watch the Wiggles. You say, “No. No Wiggles. I don’t think so.” Or I tell you it’s bedtime. You tell me, “No sleeping! I don’t like it sleeping! I DON’T THINK SO!!”

Sweet boy, you are wonderful. You bring joy to me, to everyone around you, to the world. You are so special. And I love you so much.

Love,
Mommy